


Whiskey in the Bottle

by Showtime (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson)



Category: Chicago Blackhawks - Fandom, Dallas Stars - Fandom, Hockey RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/Showtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything Pat ever said was a lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey in the Bottle

The whiskey in the bottle was sour, left out for too long before Patrick had come back to it. It was probably a lot stronger than last time, higher in alcoholic content, and would probably fuck him up too much for practice in the morning, but he was past caring.

His phone hadn’t rung once, not one notification jingle, nor the phone call he was so desperately waiting for.

The voice he so needed to hear wasn’t going to talk to him, and he wouldn’t tonight. Patrick doubted he ever would again.

And the mere thought alone was enough for him to send the whiskey bottle smashing against the wall, screaming into his hands as he broke down once more.

Everything was a _lie_.

Sharpie had _lied_ to him every single day of his Hawks career, every single little _promise_ that had left the left winger’s mouth had been a made up fantasy that Pat had let himself live in every single day.

And then the transfer had come and Sharpie had promised that nothing would change between them; that it would be the two Pat’s even whilst he was away, even whilst he played for a rival team.

Patrick had believed him, despite the worried advice his team mates gave him. Despite the amount of times Seabs and Tazer had sat him down and told him to break things off. Relationships as an NHL player were hard enough as it was, let alone a long-distance relationship with another player.

_But he hadn’t listened._

Things had been fine, at first; Sharpie still Skyped with him, called Pat whenever they could, and they spent most of their days texting as often as they could.

And then one day, all communication just stopped.

Patrick had checked his phone at every opportunity, worrying all the time, whilst trying to convince himself that Sharpie would be busy at practice, busy with his team, trying to earn their trust.

At least, that was until Duncs, unknown to the relationship between the two, had started laughing, cooing over the fact that _Patrick Sharp has revealed he is in fact in a relationship, and isn’t that woman a beautiful one?_  
No one really understood why Pat had disappeared from practice a few minutes later, only Seabs and Tazer would really understand.  
The team didn’t understand why Patrick was so miserable, always snapping at everyone and everything, becoming more and more eccentric in his out-of-game activities, or why he shut himself away and only showed his face if he needed to.

Pat screamed again, trying not to throw his phone.

At the start of the evening, Patrick had just let his phone ring out, and that at least gave Pat hope that he _might_ just pick up, that he _might_ be able to hear Sharpie explain everything to him.

But now it was just going straight to voice mail.

Dialling the number again, slightly more frantically, he had to redial twice just for hitting wrong numbers.

Tazer had deleted Sharpie’s number from Pat’s phone ages ago, but he knew the number off by heart for that to make any effect on his drunk calling.

“Y-You lied to me. You _promised_ me, Sharpie. You swore it would always be us, even if you went to play for the Predators, you _swore_ to me.” The tears rolled hot and ugly down Pat’s face and he couldn’t stop the sobs that broke free. “You promised me, and now you have the fucking audacity to send me _that_. Fuck you, _fuck you_.”

He hung up and threw his phone away, staring at the offending slip of paper on his coffee table as he sobbed.

 _Patrick and Abby invite you to be in attendance of their wedding,_  
_becoming Patrick and Abby Sharp_  
_Watch Hill, Rhode Island_  
_27 July_

His phone was ringing, somewhere in the background – the familiar ringtone quickly mixed in with the white noise that was in his head. Tazer could go fuck himself.

No doubt he got an invitation.

Pat wasn’t in the mood for _I told you so’s_.

The right winger stumbled to his feet and for his kitchen where more, unspoilt alcohol resided. His fingers wrapped around a new whiskey bottle and he just collapsed to the floor, swigging it from the bottle.

What the fuck was the point anymore?

Throwing his head back, he kept drinking, ignoring his home phone now ringing; _Hey you reached the HurriKane. I’m probably out at practice or annoying the hell out of Tazer. Or Seabs... Drop a message and if I like you, I’ll return it. Here’s the beep_.

“Pat? I know you’re there, come on pick up the phone.”

Patrick merely stared at the phone on his kitchen counter, eyes numb. He didn’t bother to stop the hiccups; the result of crying and alcohol mixing together. He didn’t bother to silence the noises he made, the soft sobs of regret and _hurt_. Heartbreak.

“Fuck sake, Kane, how much have you had to drink?”

Patrick merely took an unnecessarily loud gulp of whiskey.

Jonny hung up and Pat went back to sobbing. He had to reach for his phone and send a jumbled text, hands shaking so much it took him what felt like forever to write it.

_I'm sorry... I just miss you_

Throwing his head back, he kept drinking, gulping, until the floor came to meet him and the alcohol in his hand spilled, milling around him.

 

_He’ll grab your waist and whisper in your ear but six months later you’ll find yourself drunk texting him that you miss him with no response_


End file.
